


a clean slate

by zalzaires



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, casteless angst, it's hard down there for a duster, leske is not quite as fine a fellow as you're thinking there brosca
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2836565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zalzaires/pseuds/zalzaires
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natia Brosca is not having a fun time at the Shaperate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a clean slate

**Author's Note:**

> set vaguely before meeting leske again, and right after going in to the shaperate and, as a casteless dwarf, getting ones existence prior to warden-hood summarily dismissed

Natia was gone before either of them could realize she'd even moved. It was Alistair who raced after her first, casting his eyes about and spinning like a top to get a glimpse of her. But it was Sten who found her first: Sten, who for once didn't have to bow to the doorframes, who could see the lay of the underground city as a lord looking down on his striated fields. He trudged slowly and soundlessly to where she was curled near a precipice, facing towards the molten lava that coursed Orzammar as boiling veins.

The Mabari, of course, had beaten both men to its master. It whined and licked at her tattooed cheek, feeling her dismay as its own, but the cause, despite all its breed's vaunted intelligence, was far beyond its ken.

“Leske's worth every sodding Paragon to ever get his rocks carved,” she seethed. The dog's ears perked and it made an inquisitive noise, recognizing the name its master had granted it, and she giggled. “And you, too. Both Leskes. Between the two of you, you're worth double all those nugshitting, sanctimonious, limpwristed, ego-addled pieces of absolute--”

 

“Warden.”

 

Whatever other cusses she was going to tack on to her diatribe would never be known, because the Warden in question clamped down on her tongue, and peered up at the sten through her braids, all gone askew over her face. Her eyes were suspiciously glimmery. It was not because of the heat.

The Warden was a warrior beyond compare. Vicious and rowdy, she wielded knives with the ease of a beast gnashing its teeth. But in this moment, in the aftermath of a few simple sentences, she seemed unmade.

 

“I am not nothing.”

“You are not.”

“I didn't spring straight from the Stone and into that Proving, when I got conscripted. I came from somewhere.”

“As do we all.”

“Then what's the use of pretending I just popped up one day? For pride? Next person who tells me there's a dwarf out there who's got a lick of anything to be proud about, I'll be making a tidy profit off their teeth, I will!”

 

He had no comment to offer that.

 

She wrapped her arms around the dog's neck, then, and buried herself in its thin fur. The scent of unwashed warhound was far more comforting than any aroma generated by the city around them. Maybe she ought to go ask if she could be an honorary Ferelden, by that line of thought. Or an honorary Mabari. She'd rather reek of dog than Dust Town. Maybe once they caught up to that Arl Alistair was so fond of. 'S'cuse me, Serrah, I know you're terribly ill and all, but would you mind taking a minute out of dying to knight me as an honorable warhound? I find it much more tolerable than to remain as a dwarf.'

If the clank of his armor hadn't gave away when Alistair finally caught up, his commentary did - 

“So, ah, we nix the plans to grill the Shaper for all he knows about this little tissy of succession? Didn't much like it in there anyway. Felt a bit like a Chantry in there, but with a few more beards.”

Natia snorted, and slowly unlatched herself from the dog, which had suffered her clinging nobly.

 

“'Nix' is a good word. I'd like to _nix_ his honking nose.”

 

And with that, the moment was over. She scrubbed ruthlessly at her branded face, and faced them with an expression as placid as the eye of a storm. “Sod getting those papers peered at. _I_ know where I came from. And I won't leaving them forgotten any time soon.”


End file.
